Fear Not the Dark

by Susan Murray

  Waiting for her by the front porch was a large black florist’s box. Marley brought the box inside along with the mail then removed the wrapper and opened the box. It held a charming porcelain replica of a red and black Ming dynasty vase which contained two dozen (unsurprisingly) black roses.

  A note tied to the stem of the vase said, “So sorry about your misfortune. Hope this brightens your day.” It was signed From The Dark and aside from her initial impression of the roses as being a bit gloomy, Marley was struck by the fact that he had figured out her home address. Since the house was still listed in Uncle Max’s name, this meant that he had to have done some research. The Dark had cared enough to track her down.

  This bothered her more than a little bit but Marley let it go in the name of good customer service. She found a tactful place for the vase back in the kitchen. Displayed under direct sunlight falling on the kitchen table, the black roses took on a kind of deep, purple glow which was actually rather pretty.

  After she’d applied Bacitracin and a band-aid to her wounded finger, Marley searched out her digital camera and checked the power supply. Her plan for the evening was to arrive at the Dark Rave early and try to get some interviews with the Ordinary Joe Darkers in attendance before the venue grew too crowded and noisy for her purposes.

  Marley was interested in hearing from The Dark’s fans. She wanted to know what made them tick.

  . . . . .

  October 30th – 8:00 pm

  Dark Rave – Duffy’s Dancitorium

  Film Clip: Tag Interview #1

  Sandra B.

  Sandra B. is a buxom young blonde woman who stands proudly against the backdrop of the dance floor. She is wearing tight-fitting Dark Tag gear and poses for Marley’s camera with a good deal of self-assurance.

  Q:“So tell me Sandra, what was it that first attracted you to the Dark Way?”

  A:“I like, think The Dark’s sort of cute, for one thing? And I like, really feel what he’s saying to us. You know like, about not being afraid to do whatever we want? I think it’s important to do what we want in life. I hate it when my parents tell me I have to do my homework. That’s like, SO not empowering me!”

  Q:“Have you been a fan for very long?

  A:“For about two years now. I’m like, a Member of the Inner Circle.”

  Q:“What’s the Inner Circle?”

  A:“That’s where you win a lot at Dark Tag and get to access special levels of the website and go to like special events with The Dark. I mean you get to actually meet him.”

  Q:“Is there a fee for playing Dark Tag?”

  A:“No it’s like totally free. The only thing that costs anything is when you have to buy more points. That’s like five bucks a round.”

  Q:“Why buy points?”

  A:“That’s only if you get hit and like want to get back into the Game. You have to like, get more points every time someone like zaps you with their laser.”

  Q:“I see.”

  . . . . .

  Dark Rave

  Film Clip: Tag Interview #2

  Chuck D.

  Chuck D. is a tall African American man of about thirty-six. His hair is graying at his temples a bit but he is still in excellent physical condition. He is one of the few Darkers who actually look good when wearing full Dark regalia. He is waiting in line to buy a beverage and faces Marley’s digital camera directly.

  Q:“How did you first become interested in The Dark’s program?”

  A:“He was there when I needed him most. I had been kidnapped, abducted and tortured by aliens. When I turned on the TV later that evening feeling desperate, there he was. Answering all my questions.”

  Q:“About aliens?”

  A:“Naw, he’s not an alien I don’t think. I mean he helped me face my fears about being abducted.”

  Q:“Do you think that playing Dark Tag helps people face their fears?”

  A:“Some, maybe.”

  Q:“Not all?”

  A:“Some can take it a lot better than others can is all I’m saying.”

  . . . . .

  Dark Rave

  Film Clip: Tag Interview #3

  Donald W.

  Donald W. is heavily tattooed and carries himself in the manner of a trained fighter. In addition to the usual Dark garb, Donald is also sporting quite a bit of traditional Harley Davidson gear. He is playing pool with his friends. His lower lip bulges outward tumorlike as he squints at Marley’s camera.

  Q:“Your vest says you scored over 217 points earlier today. Someone told me you’re the high scorer at the Tournament so far. What’s the secret to your success?”

  A:“Trust no one. Don’t never let your guard down. Keep everything up here [taps forehead] inside where it don’t show. Don’t tell no one nothing and don’t show no one nothing.”

  Q:“How does that relate to your strategy in playing Dark Tag?”

  A:“You shoot them before they see it coming. I took out my best friend first. He never knew what hit him. He’s my worst competition. Best shot of anyone else here. So I took him out of the Game first.”

  . . . . .

  Dark Rave

  Film Clip: Tag Interview #4

  Susan M.

  Susan M. is the weird old lady from the fifth row. She is devouring a plate of French fries at the Dark Food Court. Above the twinkling expanse of her Dark Suit, Susan’s hair has long since given up any memory of a coiffure and drifts off the sides of her head like a dandelion gone to seed. There is ketchup on several strands and she smiles happily for Marley’s camera.

  Q:“What do you like best about the seminar so far?”

  A:“Hasn’t happened yet.”

  Q:“What?”

  A:“The part where I win the Dark Tournament.”

  Q:“Good luck.”

  A:“What brings YOU here? You don’t look like the other Darkers and you ain’t wearing the uniform. What are you, some kind of ringer or something?”

  Q:“I’ve never played any of the Dark Games.”

  A:“Doubt that. Sure you’re not a ringer?”

  Q:“Ma’am, Susan I mean, I’m just here to interview people. I’m not even planning to enter the tournament let alone compete.”

  A:“Exactly what a ringer would say.”

  . . . . .

  Dark Rave

  Film Clip: Tag Interview #5

  Bethany L.

  Bethany L. has noticed Marley filming the other Darkers and has sought Marley out, insisting on being filmed against a backdrop of her friends. As Bethany poses, Marley gradually becomes aware that she is actually a drag queen. Marley admires her poise.

  Q:“How long have you been a Dark fan?”

  A:“Not long enough darling. Are we live?”

  Q:“No this is taped. Are you competing in the Tournament?”

  A:“But of course.”

  Q:“What’s the prize for winning?”

  A:“A year’s membership in the fan club and free Tag vests, that sort of thing.”

  Q:“Is there a membership fee to be in the fan club?”

  A:“It’s practically free. They just bill you over several months. You pay in installments. Now, pardon me dearie, but I just want to say hi to all my Bee Eff Effs out there, you know who you are!! Love you!”

  CHAPTER 22

  October 30th – 10:00 p.m.

  It was too loud too hot and too crowded inside Duffy’s Dancitorium. Darkers of all ages were dancing it up, freaking out to the ass
orted tunes of various goth-rock bands. Lots of flashing, pulsing lights and throbbing beats. Ecstatic Darkers tripping on themselves and each other, gyrating wildly to the hypnotic sound.

  The Dark Rave was a fairly intense experience. Adding to the sensory overload it offered Marley had also begun to develop the beginnings of a wicked headache. She tried to walk this off after the last interview and strolled around the auditorium floor to sample some of the Dark concession stands spread out in Duffy’s Dancitorium.

  Marley found booths selling energy drinks, herbal teas, lotions, lip balms and other Dark personal accessories. Some of the kiosks sold fiercer items such as lasers, vests, stealth shoes and night-vision goggles. There was an entire lifestyle for sale or rent, Marley realized. Some kind of Dark Bling for every occasion. T-shirts, tote bags and monogrammed pens. Medallions, bracelets, capes and posters and flags.

  When the music started Marley watched (but didn’t join) the dancers, as the Dark Forum and subsequent game of Dark Tag had put her off any inclination to mingle. She’d “forgotten” her Dark Tag vest at the house and had deliberately chosen to wear nothing black.

  At one point The Dark himself took to the dance floor and surprised everyone present by rocking some sturdy dance moves. Feet nimble and quick on the beat, he cut a very dashing figure. All eyes were on him as he whirled about under the giant black mirror balls that hung from the fashionably industrial ceiling tile overhead.

  And as he danced a wave of adoring Darkers slowly moved forward to encircle him, a ring of faces and stamping feet on the dance floor all around their leader who boogied down mid-circle, cape swirling about his shoulders wing-like.

  Stowing her camera back inside the carryall she used for on-scene gigs like this one, Marley slipped unnoticed out a side door of Duffy’s Dancitorium into the cool night air. She found herself on a quiet little side street surfaced in the old-style cobblestones so typical of downtown Minneapolis’ Warehouse District.

  Standing back in the shadows of the Dancitorium, Marley caught her breath and took some time to regain her mental balance. Twinkling city lights glittered the chill air around her as she felt the tension slowly ease from her shoulders.

  Eventually she noticed a couple of Darkers making out nearby, clinging to each other in a way that suggested they’d mistaken the street for a hotel room. Whispered murmurs punctuated the night as they passionately tested the limits of each others’ clothing. Marley looked around for somewhere else she could be.

  The slam of a nearby door caught her ear and Marley turned toward the sound. A figure reeled unsteadily out from an exit set even farther down along the building. As Marley watched a second figure followed the first one out and gave the first one a mighty shove, sending the unfortunate person staggering farther down the street.

  Each time the first person almost regained his (or her) balance the second caught up and gave the first another push, hounding him (or her). Then Marley heard the roar of an engine starting and the night was shattered by a dazzle of headlights and the squeal of tires.

  From the corner of her eye, Marley noticed that the lovebirds nearby had finally been distracted from each other and all three of them watched, horrified by what followed next. It seemed to happen both rapidly and in slow-motion. The first figure turned and tried to flee from the path of the oncoming vehicle but the second figure was there to block its escape, ruthlessly pushing the first back into the path of the oncoming headlights.

  There was a direct hit and the grisly slap of moving metal on flesh. The victim went flying, arms and legs akimbo, landing across the edge of a nearby dumpster with a damp, meaty crack. From the way the broken doll’s head dangled it was clear that he (or she) was quite dead.

  The homicidal vehicle, a black SUV without any plates, stayed motionless, engine idling smoothly while the second figure climbed inside. There was a long pause. The driver and accomplice seemed to be waiting, watching to see if the downed person would rise. With a scream of rubber the killer car finally rocketed off into the night, leaving Marley and her affectionate neighbors alone with the chilling corpse of a murder victim.

  The male half of the formerly amorous duo cautiously approached the fallen stranger to see if he could offer assistance. Placed a tentative hand on the hit-and-run victim’s neck and groped for a pulse there, then the wrist.

  Without offering any help or assistance whatsoever, Marley sank further back into the shadows and leaned against the outside wall of the Dancitorium for support. It was cowardly but she didn’t feel like lending a hand. Her headache was back in full force and her finger throbbed painfully. She simply watched as Romeo checked for a pulse.

  To be sure, if she’d felt it would have done any good Marley would have been the first person to step up and do CPR on the victim. But in this particular case Marley honestly didn’t think there was much that anyone (except God and a choir of angels) could do for the poor soul. Checking for a pulse in this case was more of a following-protocol kind of thing, a formality that had to be observed. Sure enough, after a minute Romeo shook his head and stepped back from the body.

  He’d been blocking Marley’s view, and when he moved Marley stared into the face of the murdered man and realized that she’d seen him before. A slow and poisonous dread began freezing her deep inside, where the small frightened animal part of her lived. The last time she’d seen this man had been at the Dark Forum earlier when he’d rushed the stage and accused The Dark of having murdered his sister Gillian.

  This made him the second angry member of the Folsom family in as many days to die soon after tangling with The Dark himself. Which just couldn’t be a coincidence. Especially not considering everything little Hector Gonzalez had told her and Alison earlier. Marley’s stomach clenched into a tight painful ball, threatening to eject its contents on the spot. Her headache began to throb violently.

  She swallowed hard. And swallowed again, trying to breathe.

  There was a foul odor on the breeze. The victim had emptied his bowels at the moment of impact and this along with the musky scent of his blood made Marley dizzy with nausea and rancid fear. She gagged and her finger throbbed sharply. A small crowd had gathered nearby taking things in and talking in soft, frightened whispers.

  Having completed his cursory examination of the clearly dead man Romeo dialed 911 to request help while Marley edged slowly away from the scene and out of sight into a shadowed nook between buildings. The prospect of waiting around to give the requisite statement to the police was unappealing. There would be news crews showing up soon as well, and given her nausea Marley had no wish to be immortalized vomiting on camera.

  Not to mention she’d already been the focus of enough attention from the Minneapolis police for one day. Maybe it was paranoid to think so, but Marley had a hunch that anyone who filed two separate police reports involving serious but unrelated crimes in the space of twenty-four hours would likely end up on a watch list of some kind herself.

  At any rate Romeo and Juliet had seen everything she’d seen. They could testify as to what had transpired just as well as she could. And thus justifying her not-so-good-citizen-like disappearance from the crime scene Marley kept going, headed out down the alley and scrammed it. Lit out. Hit the road and kept on going. Picked up her jeep from parking and drove home in total, petrified silence.

  CHAPTER 23

  October 30th – 11:30 p.m.

  Janus followed Marley as she started her Jeep and drove away. Even with his experience and training he had been surprised by the violence of the hit and run on Gillian Folsom’s brother in the alleyway. No wonder Marley had been looking peaky as she stumbled away from the scene of the attack.

  Marley’s Jeep was several blocks ahead of Janus’ van as he followed her all the way back home to Uptown. Pulling to a s
top and parking on the street just down from Max Sherman’s house, he was relieved to see lights on inside the house and to find that Marley’s tracking chip indicated her presence at home. No doubt she was already inside, settling down to sleep for the night, as would be normal after such a long day.

  The darkness around him was broken by the soft glow of wrought iron streetlights on oak trees and grass. It was a mellow atmosphere, yet Janus found himself on edge. Janus was settling back in his van, readying himself for a long night of watching, when a big black SUV pulled up in the alley behind Max’s house and parked, its engine quickly silenced. Instantly, Janus was on high alert.

  And given the all-black garb of the three men who exited the SUV, Janus had his doubts about this being a friendly visit, especially seeing as how the SUV bore a powerful resemblance to the vehicle that had struck its victim down in the street outside Duffy’s Dancetorium.

  It was a dark night, but even so Janus could clearly see that one of the men was Delroy Dark, identifiable by the black velvet cape that swung about his shoulders. The man that he and his partners had been investigating for six months was personally paying an unannounced visit to Max Sherman’s niece at midnight. Not good.

  Janus watched as the man seemed to glide down the walkway, not even fallen autumn leaves stirring under his feet. It was unnatural, and Janus felt a slight shiver run down his spine. Quickly he left his van and moved to intercept The Dark.

  “Can I help you?” Janus emerged from the bushes at the side of the house and stepped in front of The Dark, enjoying a small moment of satisfaction when surprise registered on The Dark’s face. Janus stood squarely between The Dark and Max Sherman’s house.